


a love like religion

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Jemma as Hades and Persephone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a love like religion

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to this poetic but also prosaic, canon but also mythological bullshit piece i just wrote because i have a lot of feelings

 

You’ve heard stories, sure. He’s a rumor that lives on the winter wind, in the whispers at fresh graves, in the rot of things you used to tend to.

But you don’t expect him to come for you.

 

 

 

His face is all shadows and disguises. An elaborate cover-up you noticed immediately. When he took you, he threw you over his shoulder; but now as he dumps you right-side up on his throne you can’t help but blurt it out.

_You look nervous._

 

 

 

He steals you. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Yes, it was unwilling but it assumes some sort of harm was done.

The harm was done to you a long time ago.

You’ve been walking this place up and down trying to survive for so long that falling into his trap was destiny. And you’re almost glad for the change of scenery.

 

 

 

_I’ve been stranded here for years_ , he says. And you sit up straight. These are not the words you expected. This is not the story you’ve been fed.

The poor thing is just as lost as anyone.

He’s been stranded in Hell for years; and when he saw you, he broke.

 

 

 

You guide him by the hand to the blackest part of Hell. Firelight from his hands bounces like a bright signal around the space. Something important is about to happen.

You crouch to the cool ground, and under your hands, the smallest, the most important curl of green life sprouts.

He stares down at you for a long, long moment, light dancing in his eyes.

_Is this all you need_?

To build and thrive and survive, he means. To be happy here.

You look back up at him. _Almost_.

 

 

 

 After you kiss him, he doesn’t stop smiling through winter. Spring comes and goes, but you stay below.

 

 

 

Sometimes, in the haziest of hours, you can feel the rumble of the others coming. The ones that would brush the dirt off your face and call themselves saviors. The ones you left behind. The ones moving Heaven and Earth to uncover you.

That just leaves Hell to search.

Maybe you don’t need to be found.

 

 

 

When he asks you if he’s selfish, you think _no_. You say something rude instead.

 

 

 

The first time you love him, you feel weak and strong at the same time; and it terrifies you. You warn him that he promised to tread carefully.

He smirks into your brow. _I may be the King of Hell, but I never break my promises._

 

 

The two of you have been lying around all day and he’s been running his mouth, a spectacle to keep you happy.

_You must be the Sun in my eyes._ He’s joking. He finds this whole _opposites attract_ thing funny.

You roll over, put your hands on his cheeks and hold his stare.

_No. I’m the earth beneath your feet. And you’re the earth beneath mine._

He shuts up.

 

 

 

When they finally come to save you, deluded by heroism, you ask for five minutes to say goodbye.

 

 

 

People say you were tricked. He fed you pretty lines and pretty seeds, and that’s why you’re drawn to him. A magic trick. A clever ruse. A man taking advantage.

People underestimate you.

_Feed me_ , you tell him. _Feed me and I’ll always come back._

He can’t say no to that.

 

 

 

Winter comes and goes; but you’ll be home again before he has time to miss you. You promised.

You’re the Queen of Hell, and you never break a promise. 

 


End file.
